


Grounding

by dd_123



Series: Interludes [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Recovery, Touch-Starved, post Ch 19 of Family and Home and probably before Ch 20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23119621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dd_123/pseuds/dd_123
Summary: An interlude between Chapter 19 and 20 of "Family and Home".Even the strongest of men are stalked by shadows in their dreams.-Rewritten and reposted because my original annoyed me.
Relationships: Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Interludes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663186
Comments: 16
Kudos: 138





	Grounding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/gifts).



> Thank you to Tatum for the beta and wonderful advice.

_An explosion. The ship shudders through its death throes as it’s torn apart. Everything is painted red. Alarms blare, adding to the chaos. Burning heat as flames lick through the carcass of the ship._

**_Corin!_ **

_Open sky and dirt and they’re fighting for their lives. Din’s breathing is heaving, desperate. He takes to the sky, maneuvers and dives. He fights, and he fights. There are too many enemies._

_Protect Corin. Protect the child. **FIGHT.**_

_An impact and he tumbles from the sky. He meets the ground hard. Pain. Flashes of white. Hands gripping him cruelly. He stumbles. He’s hauled up and dragged away. There’s pain, pain, pain._

_He can hear the child crying._

_The butt of a rifle smashes into his back. He doubles over as a boot slams into his stomach. There are hands on his helmet. He bellows and kicks._

_He fights. Blood sprays across his visor and his knuckles bruise. His anger catches flame and fury burns through him like an inferno. He fights. He fights. He fights._

_Everything shifts._

_Silence._

_“The child is safe.”_

_“The child is at the Covert.”_

_Overwhelming relief floods through his veins. It is temporary._

**_Corin._ **

_“Moff Gideon ordered for him to be executed.”_

_The galaxy ceases to spin._

_The fall takes an eternity. He barely registers the pain as his knees hit the ground. There’s only white static and the keening in his head. Executed. Executed. Executed._

_Silence._

_He slowly raises his head._

_There, in front. A shape. Din’s blood and heart freeze and turn to ice. He’s never felt this cold before._

_He staggers to his feet, stumbles, crashes forward. Drags himself to the now achingly familiar shape clad in white armour. The scorch and crater of a blaster wound at the back of the head. The smell of charred flesh and burnt hair and blood permeates his air filtration system, and he chokes. No. No. No, no, no, no, NO!_

_He pulls the body into his arms and with numb hands, he turns it over. Corin’s blue eyes stare up at him. Dull. Empty. Lifeless._

_Din’s scream is raw agony as his heart shatters into fragments._

-

Din lurches, a strangled shout caught in his throat.

-

Corin’s eyes snap open to the sound of rapid, shallow breathing from above him and his head pressed tight against Din’s chest. Din’s hand is shaking as he holds him. The thin fabric of Din’s sleep shirt does nothing to muffle the sound of the frantic beating of his heart against his ear. The residual sleep fog scatters with a blink, and Corin’s heart clenches at the realisation he is not the only one with shadows in their dreams. Immediately, Corin tightens his arm around Din’s waist, and he turns in closer, to offer whatever meagre comfort he can.

“You’re okay, you’re here,” Corin murmurs, his still-sleep-roughened voice muffled against the material of the Din’s shirt. He moves his hand in what he hopes is a soothing manner against Din’s side, trying to imitate what Din has done for himself so many, many times before. Trying to offer whatever comfort he can. “The child is safe. He’s with the Foundlings.”

The quietly uttered reassurances continue as Din’s breathing gradually begins to return to a more normal rhythm. Bit by bit, the tremors running through his body lessen. The press against his head and chest remains, keeping Corin close.

Time passes in that manner, an occasional shiver still rippling through Din’s body. Corin’s hand continues its gentle ministrations.

“What do you need?” Quiet words spoken into the dark. “What can I do?” Corin knows he can’t do much, is afraid of making things worse, realising how bad whatever this is must be if Din – _Din_ – is struggling so. Din, who has faced platoons of Death Troopers with steeled determination and never so much as flinched! But if Din can tell him what to do, what will help, then Corin will do it.

“I need…” Corin can hear the underlying tension in Din’s voice as he answers, and it pulls at him.

“Anything.” And he means it. Anything for this man. For his family.

A hesitation for a fraction of a moment, and then Din is moving to sit up. His bare hands prompt and guide Corin with touches to his hips and flank until he too is sitting up, cross legged. He rests his hands on his knees and simply waits as Din arranges himself, curved around Corin’s back, legs bracketing around his, and arms encircled around his waist. With a shivering breath, he leans his helmet against Corin’s shoulder.

They sit, chest pressed to back. The sound of Din’s still unsettled breathing breaks the night’s silence, but Corin notes that it is less harsh than before. He leans back tentatively and feels Din tremble. _Tremble_.

A shift, a pause, then restless fingers pluck at Corin’s sleep shirt. “Would you...?” sounds hesitantly from behind.

Responding to the uncertainty with none of his own, Corin breaks the loose hold around him, pulls the shirt off over his head and leans back again. Din sighs then breathes deep as he pulls Corin close, arms encircling him once more. He moves a hand across Corin’s chest directly over his heart and holds fast, as if the steady rhythm is grounding to him. Curling into him to seek the warmth of his skin.

A moment turns into two turns into more in the ongoing darkness. Corin covers Din’s hand with his own, slowly swiping his thumb in gentle motions against Din’s skin.

“Alright?” Corin asks, quietly.

“Soon.” The modulated voice is still strained.

“What do you need?”

-

Din’s breath catches. He needs… he needs…

He needs a locked room and his hands around Moff Gideon’s throat. He needs his whistling birds and flame thrower and blasters showering his rage and horror onto those who nearly destroyed his family. He needs Corin armoured in beskar from head to foot, equipped and protected. He needs Corin to be safe.

He closes his eyes.

He needs Corin.

“I need…”

He needs to look into blue eyes and see the vibrant colour without the barrier of his visor hindering their brilliance. He needs breath to mingle and noses to bump and to hear laughter bubble. He needs to press his lips to forehead and to speak words that, as of yet, Corin wouldn’t understand. He can’t. He can’t, but he needs. He needs.

“I need you to look ahead. Don’t look back. Don’t turn back, okay?”

“Okay. Whatever you need.” Corin’s reply is immediately, even if tinged with confusion. He won’t look back simply because Din had asked him not to. That thought makes him hesitate, splayed fingers involuntarily flexing against Corin’s chest.

Corin’s hand presses his closer. “Whatever you need, Din."

-

Another moment passes, and Din’s arms release him. Corin feels him lean back, unexpected coolness against his back as Din’s warmth moves away. The silence of the room is broken with a soft click. Blind in the dark, staring straight ahead, Corin’s eyes widen. Din shifts again, and Corin hears the unmistakable sound of a helmet being removed.

He starts. “Din…?”

A palm settles against his neck, a light brush of fingers against the underside of his jaw. The touch is reassuring. He leans into it.

“Don’t look back.”

Corin swallows. “Okay.” He stills, straightens and waits.

There’s more movement behind him, the rasp of a shirt being removed, and very slowly – cautiously, hesitantly – Corin is pulled back against a bare chest. Din’s arms slip under his and yet again encircle him, his hand again splayed over his heart. A shaking exhale sounds behind his ear as Din moves to press his bare forehead against Corin’s shoulder blade.

Corin’s fingers dig their grip into his knees. He doesn’t move, staring blindly ahead in the dark.

-

The cold from his dream still creeps through his veins. He holds tight, trying to bring Corin’s warmth through into him. Skin to skin. One of the most basic humanoid needs, one denied from him and by him for so very long. But tonight, he needs. He needs, but the long-forgotten sensations are overwhelming when not filtered by the barrier of the helmet. He closes his eyes tight enough to see white pinprick of stars behind his lids. He focuses on the gentle rise and fall of Corin’s body like a meditation as he breathes against him.

He turns his head and presses his cheek against Corin’s shoulder blade. He shifts, concentrating on the slide of Corin’s skin against his. Breathes in his scent. Listens to the unfiltered sound of his breathing. One by one he imprints to memory every experience of every sense, to store and lock away safe. Moment by moment reassuring himself that Corin is alive, Corin is well, Corin is here.

That Corin is safe.

“I lost you.”

Din can hear the break in his own voice as he confesses his sin. His contact. His decision. His mistake. He so very nearly lost them both.

-

Steadfastly keeping his head forward, Corin closes his eyes. _I lost you._ The quiet agony in Din’s voice barbs and latches into Corin’s heart, making it ache. Blindly, he reaches a hand up and back to where he can feel Din resting his head. His fingers reach enough to curl through Din’s hair, his nails light on the scalp. Behind him, Corin can hear a catch of breath.

“I’m fine. I’m here. You found me. We’re safe.”

A final brush of his fingers through Din’s hair, then Corin moves his hand down to cover Din’s hand over still resting over his heart.

More moments pass as they stay pressed together. Gradually, Din’s breathing evens completely and joins rhythm with his. His grip around Corin relaxes and loosens, the strung tension leaving his frame increment by increment. Time stretches and contracts at the same time as Corin settles into the warmth behind him, focused on the sensation of skin against skin, the rasp of stubble against his back and the hand pressed over his heart.

Eventually Din shifts back and releases his hold. Corin feels a feather light press of lips against his nape and hears Din’s sigh as he pulls back completely. Corin keeps his head turned forward and remains still until he hears Din put his sleep shirt and helmet back on.

“Thank you.”

Din’s voice is modulated through the helmet once more, but to Corin it will never sound the same again.

Din’s hands return to Corin’s sides, guiding him to shift around back down onto the bed. Corin sinks into the mattress and instead pulls Din close to him, and presses Din’s helmet down to his shoulder. A huff of a laugh from Din brings a tired smile to Corin’s face. Din curls against him, loose limbed and tension banished.

“Nuhoyir, ner kar'ta,” Corin whispers.

And Din sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation:
> 
> Nuhoyir, ner kar'ta – sleep, my heart


End file.
